


Creatures of Shadow

by skywalkersamidala



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M is probably an overly high rating but better safe than sorry, M/M, Sharing a Bed, nothing like sharing a bed with your “enemy” to force u to confront your repressed feelings for them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 07:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywalkersamidala/pseuds/skywalkersamidala
Summary: The gang stops at an inn for the night on the way back from Volterra, and there’s only one bed. Actually there’s two beds, but Giuliano claims one for himself and Lorenzo and Francesco feel too sorry for him to argue.





	Creatures of Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> This fic could not make up its mind whether it wanted to be angsty hurt/comfort or fluffy humor so enjoy the weird hybrid of genres haha

It was already dark when they arrived at the inn. Night had fallen an hour ago, before they’d reluctantly agreed they wouldn’t be able to make it back to Florence tonight and would have to find someplace to stay. Francesco felt they could have made it if they’d ridden faster, but Giuliano and Lorenzo had been lagging behind the whole time, probably too haunted by the carnage at Volterra to focus on riding. Francesco couldn’t exactly blame them.

“Three rooms for the night, please,” Lorenzo said to the innkeeper.

“I apologize, Messer, but we only have two left.”

“Oh,” said Lorenzo. “That’s all right, Giuliano and I will share. We’ll take them.”

They weren’t quite ready to sleep yet, so they went to get a drink. For an hour or so they drank in silence, even Lorenzo, who was usually so talkative.

And Giuliano, usually the last one to call it night, was the first one to say, “I’m going to bed, I’m tired.”

Lorenzo finished his drink and stood too. “That’s a good idea, it’s been a long day. Francesco?”

Francesco was between drinks and knew he was just at that point where one more would make him regret it in the morning, so he got up as well and followed them to their rooms. “These two, I think,” Lorenzo said, coming to a halt outside two rooms next to each other. “Giuliano and I will take this one, and Francesco—”

“Actually, I’d rather have my own,” Giuliano interrupted. “I…need to be alone right now.”

Lorenzo frowned at him, though he also looked sympathetic. “It’s only one night, Giuliano, and Francesco doesn’t want to share with me.”

Normally Francesco would indeed have pitched a fit at the prospect, but all he could think of was that empty look in Giuliano’s eyes when he and Lorenzo had arrived at Volterra. So he found himself saying, “It’s all right, I don’t mind.”

Lorenzo turned to him, surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Like you said, it’s only one night.”

“Yes…” Lorenzo looked back at Giuliano, worried. “Will you be all right? I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to be alone tonight—”

Giuliano snorted. “I’m tired, not suicidal,” he said. “See you in the morning.”

He went into his room and shut the door. Lorenzo and Francesco exchanged a glance and a shrug before going into their own room.

“You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor,” Lorenzo said.

Again, Francesco was feeling unusually generous, so rather than agreeing, he said, “No, you can have the bed, it’s fine.”

“No, no, I feel bad enough making you share a room with me—”

“Lorenzo, honestly, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

They squabbled for a bit longer until Francesco eventually won with the argument that he was so tired he could easily fall asleep on the floor without noticing the difference. Which was not true at all, he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep a wink tonight, but it made Lorenzo relent. Not before insisting on giving him one of two lumpy pillows on the bed (actually both, but Francesco would only accept one) and the thin blanket.

Francesco stepped out of his boots and shrugged off his cloak, then took off his outer tunic. He saw Lorenzo doing the same on the other side of the room. Lorenzo’s back was to him and Francesco found himself staring as he watched him untucking his undershirt from his pants, a hint of bare skin showing before he let the hem of the shirt drop again.

Lorenzo turned around to get in bed and Francesco quickly glanced away and busied himself folding his tunic and putting it beside his boots, his face feeling hot. He spread his cloak out on the floor and laid down on top of it, pulling the blanket over himself. He shifted his position a few times, then squished the pillow around to try to get it into a more comfortable shape.

“Well…goodnight, then,” Lorenzo said rather awkwardly.

“Goodnight,” Francesco replied, still not quite able to believe he was here hospitably sharing a room with a Medici and they weren’t trying to kill each other. If Jacopo could see him now.

But that just made him think about how he’d gone through Jacopo’s records to find out for Lorenzo who he was selling alum to, which made him think about the dead man they’d found, which made him wonder if Jacopo had had him killed merely out of caution—or because he’d had reason to believe his records had been tampered with. Which made Francesco worry that Jacopo had figured out that he’d betrayed him, which made him fear what Jacopo would do to him once they returned to Florence.

And none of those thoughts were conducive to sleep, so Francesco rolled over onto his other side and closed his eyes, trying to think about something else. Now he was thinking about Volterra, the bodies everywhere. So, so many bodies, covering the ground, hanging on nooses, everywhere he looked.

Francesco sighed and rolled onto his back. That wasn’t comfortable, the hard stone floor was pressing against his spine. Onto his side again. The floor was digging into his arm, which was already sore from riding. Back to the other side. But that just made his hip hurt—

“Francesco?”

Francesco opened his eyes and rolled over yet again so he could look at Lorenzo. “What?”

“You could sleep in the bed if you wanted,” Lorenzo said. “You look uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine,” Francesco lied. “And I already told you, I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor—”

“Yes, I know perfectly well how stubborn you are.” It was dark, but he could hear a smile in Lorenzo’s voice. “I meant, you could sleep in the bed with me.”

Francesco paused, taken aback. “With you?”

“There’s plenty of space,” Lorenzo said. “And you’ll be sore enough in the morning from riding all day without also having spent the night on the hard floor. Though I have to say the bed isn’t much softer.”

Francesco let out a small huff of laughter before he could stop himself. Apparently now he was laughing at a Medici’s jokes, too. His first instinct was to reject the offer—sharing a room was putting him in more than close enough proximity with Lorenzo, he wasn’t about to share a _bed_ with him—but on the other hand, the floor was _really_ uncomfortable and he was exhausted and would like to get a _little_ sleep tonight.

“Well…I suppose,” he said. “If you’re certain you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Francesco stood up, wincing as the sudden movement made his back twinge, and gathered the pillow and blanket off the floor. He hesitantly approached the bed; Lorenzo was scooching over to the right side, leaving the left free for him. Francesco tossed him the blanket and set his pillow down on the bed before climbing in, trying very hard not to touch Lorenzo.

Lorenzo spread the blanket out over the two of them, which felt oddly intimate somehow. Francesco rolled onto his side so that his back was to him. “Goodnight,” Lorenzo said again.

Francesco mumbled a goodnight in response, then closed his eyes and did his best to forget that Lorenzo was there. But for some reason he was incredibly conscious of Lorenzo lying a hand’s breadth away from him, much more conscious than he should have been.

 _It’s just Lorenzo,_ Francesco told himself sternly. Lorenzo whom he’d known his whole life. Lorenzo whom he’d shared a bed with before, when they were children. It was the night before his parents’ funeral, before Jacopo had come to take him and Guglielmo away from the Medici home. Francesco had been woken by a nightmare and rather than tiptoeing into Guglielmo’s room as he would normally have done, he’d found himself looking for Lorenzo instead.

 _Francesco? What’s wrong?_ Lorenzo had whispered sleepily.

 _Nothing,_ Francesco had said, feeling stupid. _I had a dream, that’s all. I’m sorry for waking you._

Lorenzo had looked at him carefully, his blue eyes shining through the darkness and seeming to pierce Francesco’s very soul. _You can sleep here with me if you’re scared._

Francesco had wanted to scoff and say he wasn’t scared, but…he _had_ been scared, sleeping in an unfamiliar guest bedroom all alone rather than at home with his parents in the next room. His parents, who were dead, his parents whom he’d never see again.

So Francesco had nodded silently and climbed into bed beside Lorenzo. Lorenzo had hugged him tight and said, _I’ll always protect you, Francesco._ And indeed he’d tried to the next day, but he was no match for Jacopo. No one was.

But now Francesco clung to the memory of the night before Jacopo came to take him, as it was much more relaxing than anything he’d been thinking about previously tonight. He tried to go even further back, to pretend just for a little while that he was still a child, that his parents were still alive, that he had yet to experience death or tragedy. That the Medici were still his family almost as much as the Pazzi, that he and Lorenzo were still friends.

That he was still happy.

And with those comforting memories wrapping around his mind, Francesco finally dozed off into a restless sleep.

* * *

_He was back in Volterra again, walking through the city gates, stepping over bodies, the stench of death filling his nostrils. There was Lorenzo, his eyes dead and hollow, blood soaking his hands. No, that wasn’t right, Lorenzo hadn’t even participated in the battle._

_“Hang them,” he said, staring directly at Francesco, completely emotionless._

_Lorenzo was always so bright and full of life, it was unsettling to see him like this. Francesco looked away from him and kept walking. He tripped over something and looked down, and his stomach overturned when he saw that it was Giuliano, dead, covered in stab wounds, blood everywhere._

_No, not dead. Dying. He focused on Francesco’s face and opened his mouth to speak. “Your fault,” he said. “My blood, your hands. Your fault.”_

_Shivering, Francesco watched the life leave his eyes and quickly kept walking. He needed to get out of here, he needed to find the gates to leave the city. But they weren’t behind him anymore, he couldn’t find them._

_Desperately he stumbled around, searching for an exit, panic clogging his throat as he realized he was trapped in Volterra. He found himself in front of the hanging corpses, and despite himself he slowly raised his head to look up at the nearest one._

_It was him. Horrified, Francesco gazed into his own lifeless eyes, watched his own corpse swaying on its noose in the wind._

Francesco woke up with a ragged gasp, drenched in a cold sweat. He pressed his hand to his chest and felt his heart hammering. He sat up in bed, trying to take deep, slow breaths to calm down.

“Francesco? What’s wrong?”

Francesco nearly jumped at the voice, remembering only now where he was and who was with him. “Nothing,” he said, unable to look at Lorenzo, as if he was afraid he’d see those empty eyes staring back at him. “I had a dream, that’s all. I’m sorry for waking you.”

 _You can sleep here with me if you’re scared,_ he almost expected him to say. But Francesco already was sleeping there, and now Lorenzo only let out a humorless laugh and said, “You didn’t. I’ve been awake all night. Can’t sleep.”

Francesco felt him moving and glanced sideways to see that he was sitting up too. The bed wasn’t as spacious as Lorenzo had claimed, and their hips were touching, their legs brushing against each other. “What was the dream?” Lorenzo asked.

Francesco surprised even himself by actually answering rather than brushing him off. “I was back in Volterra,” he said in a low voice. “We were all there, but…Giuliano was dead, and he said it was my fault. I saw myself hanging from a noose. And you were alive, but you were…different. Cold.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Lorenzo put his hand on his shoulder. His hand wasn’t cold, it was warm, so warm and alive. “It was only a dream,” he said.

“I know.”

“You know I’d never let anyone hang you, Francesco.”

“Wouldn’t you? I’m a Pazzi,” Francesco said, more bitterly than he meant to, even though he knew the continued feud between their families was much more his and Jacopo’s fault than it was Lorenzo’s.

“You’re also my friend,” Lorenzo replied. “No, you’re my family.”

That was the second time in as many days that Lorenzo had called him family. Francesco’s throat felt tight, and he finally looked over at him. Lorenzo met his gaze and gave him a small smile, and even in the darkness he could see how it lit up his eyes. His hand was still on Francesco’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothing little circles in an unconscious gesture.

“And you?” Francesco said. “Why can’t you sleep?”

He regretted the question immediately, as it made Lorenzo’s smile fade. “All those innocent people, dead,” he said quietly. “Dead because of me.”

Francesco shook his head. “It isn’t your fault.”

“Volterra is under Florence’s protection, _my_ protection—”

“Lorenzo,” Francesco interrupted. “Lorenzo, it isn’t your fault.”

Without thinking he reached out and took Lorenzo’s face in his hands, feeling the wetness of a few tears that had started to slide down his cheeks. All he knew was that he couldn’t bear to see Lorenzo broken like this. It was Francesco who was a creature of shadow; Lorenzo was supposed to be the one who brought light and warmth to even the darkest places. Lorenzo was supposed to be carefree, innocent, happy. Francesco wanted to protect him from the horrors of the world, to make sure that light was never stolen from his eyes. To make sure he never looked like he had in his nightmare.

Lorenzo was looking at him like he was seeing him for the first time, and Francesco realized that his own heartbeat had sped up again. Lorenzo’s skin was so warm under his hands. “Francesco…” Lorenzo whispered.

Francesco knew he should let go of him and move away, but he couldn’t. Lorenzo leaned forward until their noses were almost touching, but then he stopped, biting his lip.

 _Kiss me,_ Francesco wanted to say. He wanted it, he wanted it more than he’d thought it was possible to want anything, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it out loud. So instead he finished closing the distance between them and pressed his lips against Lorenzo’s.

Lorenzo responded immediately, kissing him back and sliding the hand on his shoulder down to his waist and moving the other up to cup his face. Francesco let Lorenzo tug him even closer, savoring the feeling of his hand on his cheek as he ran his own hands through Lorenzo’s hair.

Lorenzo sucked on his lower lip so decadently that he moaned, but Francesco didn’t have time to be embarrassed about it because now Lorenzo was climbing into his lap and pushing him to lie down. Francesco closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath as Lorenzo started attacking him with kisses, going down his neck and collarbone and occasionally nipping at his skin with his teeth, though not hard enough to leave a mark.

But then his mouth vanished, and Francesco opened his eyes to see him sitting up straight and pulling his shirt off over his head. Francesco stared at his bare torso, his mouth going dry, but when Lorenzo reached to start taking his shirt off too, Francesco had a moment of clarity and he grabbed Lorenzo’s hands to stop him.

What were they doing? Was he about to fuck Lorenzo de’ Medici in a cheap inn in the middle of the night after they’d seen so many horrors earlier that day? They couldn’t do this, Francesco couldn’t do this. Lorenzo was a Medici, they weren’t even _friends,_ they couldn’t ever be friends.

“Francesco?” Lorenzo said, worried. “Do you want to stop?”

Francesco swallowed and met his eyes. And he realized that no, they weren’t friends. They were family. They were two halves of a whole. How could he have spent so long trying to deny it?

And now that he’d realized it, why bother continuing to try to deny it?

“No,” he said, letting go of his hands again. “No, don’t stop.”

Lorenzo smiled, looking relieved, and Francesco smiled back. And he allowed himself to let go and lose himself to Lorenzo’s hands and mouth and body for the rest of the night, until they both finally fell asleep. And this time, Francesco had only good dreams.

* * *

Sunlight was streaming into the room when Francesco woke up. He felt unusually warm and content, and a second later he realized why: he was completely enveloped in Lorenzo’s arms, his back against Lorenzo’s chest. He turned his head and saw that Lorenzo was still asleep, so he snuggled further into his embrace, not ready to get up just yet.

Idly Francesco found himself thinking back to the previous night, before they’d kissed. The slaughter at Volterra had been a horrible sight for him, yes, but he didn’t feel responsible for it the way Lorenzo did. Last night his own troubles had been only dreams, whereas Lorenzo’s were all too real. How odd, then, that now Lorenzo was the one with his arms around him, Lorenzo was the one holding him and keeping him safe rather than vice versa.

Or perhaps it was exactly this that made Lorenzo feel better. Perhaps it comforted him to know that there was at least one person he could protect, even if only from bad dreams.

Then Francesco started thinking about everything that had happened after their conversation; those memories were much more pleasant. He knew he should regret it, but…he just couldn’t. Because for the first time in so, so long, he’d been happy. Was still happy now.

Though he had to wonder if Lorenzo felt the same way. Perhaps last night he’d only been seeking comfort after a traumatic day, and Francesco had just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Perhaps he didn’t truly care about Francesco, at least not the way Francesco cared about him.

But he didn’t like these thoughts, so he pushed them aside and closed his eyes again, wanting to enjoy this moment for just a little longer…

Someone pounded on the door. “Lorenzo! Francesco! Don’t tell me you’re still asleep.”

Francesco awoke with a start. “Not anymore,” Lorenzo called back, sounding grumpy.

“Good, we have to get going,” Giuliano said. “I’ll meet you by the horses.”

Francesco hadn’t realized he’d drifted off again, and he lay there disoriented for a moment. But then he felt Lorenzo moving and a second later his warmth had disappeared. “Get up, Francesco, Giuliano will never let me hear the end of it if I’m the one who oversleeps for once,” Lorenzo said with a chuckle.

Francesco wanted to do something childish like whine until Lorenzo came back and kept cuddling him, but instead he forced himself to get out of bed. “You already _are_ the one who overslept,” he pointed out, picking up his clothes from where they’d been haphazardly thrown the night before and starting to get dressed.

“Well, it’s hardly my fault,” Lorenzo said, his tone teasing. “Someone thoroughly wore me out last night.”

Francesco felt himself blushing, and he started lacing up his shirt and avoiding Lorenzo’s eyes, again filled with doubt as to how exactly they were going to proceed from here. Once they were both fully dressed, Francesco made for the door.

But Lorenzo caught him by the wrist. Francesco turned to look at him, and Lorenzo tugged him towards him and kissed him, not with the hunger and desperation of the night before but with tender passion. Francesco melted into the kiss, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close.

It was with reluctance that they drew apart after a minute. “That will have to be enough until next time,” Lorenzo murmured.

Next time. Lorenzo wanted there to be a next time. Francesco smiled, not his usual smirk, but a real, genuine smile. He almost said something foolish and sentimental like _I can never have enough of you,_ but his dignity wouldn’t let him. But the way Lorenzo smiled back told him he understood how he felt, even if he couldn’t find the right words for it.

“Come on, we’ve kept Giuliano waiting long enough,” Francesco said instead.

And indeed, Giuliano was tapping his foot impatiently when they joined him at the stable. “Finally,” he said. “I almost left without you.”

Francesco was suddenly unable to look him in the eye, so he quickly went over to his own horse and started saddling him up. “How was your night?” he heard Lorenzo asking behind him.

“Decent enough,” Giuliano said. “Though not as good as yours sounded.”

Belatedly Francesco realized Giuliano had been in the room right on the other side of their wall. Mortified, he studiously kept buckling his saddle, trying to pretend he couldn’t hear this conversation and praying that Giuliano didn’t mean what Francesco thought he meant.

Lorenzo just laughed and thankfully Giuliano didn’t say anything further. Until Francesco said that they should get going because they still had a bit of a ride ahead of them, at which point Giuliano smirked and said, “Well, you’d know all about riding, wouldn’t you?”

Francesco wanted the earth to open up and swallow him, but tragically it did not. Lorenzo, the traitor, was clearly struggling to stifle a laugh. Francesco got on his horse without deigning to respond to Giuliano, though he knew he could see his face burning.

But he had to admit, it was nice to see Giuliano closer to his old annoying self again rather than the shell of it he’d been the day before. Even if his renewed good humor was at Francesco’s expense.


End file.
